Artista and the Count
by Magnets in Winter
Summary: Glimpses of past lives have been haunting Leo for a while now. When a person from his visions materializes before him his entire life is turned upside down. (LeonardoxRiario)
1. Chapter 1

It's Friday and Leonardo is at the club again. The week of barely sleeping and strange dreams has left him exhausted but he knows that if he goes to bed now he'll be haunted by the strangers again. So he dances alone. He takes comfort in the sweating bodies that surround him. A push from a stranger every now and then only spurs him on. He can feel this week's frustrations pouring out of him with every jump and with every bead of sweat that spills from his pores.

He is startled by the hands resting on his hips, keeping him in place and before he can turn around a warm breath is by his ear: "Please, don't turn around."

There is something familiar about that voice but Leo just can't place it.

"Just for a moment," the voice continues. Leo can feel the man behind him lower his head. His breath now dancing over Leo's shoulders, the man's lips graze the exposed skin there. Leo is scared but deep inside he also feels that, somehow, this is ok. The man's hands start moving, thumbs rubbing gentle circles, gentle pressure guides them to start swaying to some unheard music.

Leo can't help himself – he moves closer to the man and can feel the man's chest against his back. The man is not taller than Leo, perhaps he's even a bit shorter, but they're built the same – wiry but strong. The man's breathing calms Leo further and he surrenders to the guided movements.

The man's nose begins to trace a path from Leo's shoulder, up his neck and settles by Leo's ear. A gentle kiss followed by a strong suck just below the jawline electrifies Leo's entire body, "Just as I remember, mmmmm." The man comments and Leo can't stop the tiny moan that escapes his lips.

Leo begins to turn around and the man disappears. Leo spins around searching the bodies for someone who might be the stranger but finds no one. He rubs his face and quietly swears. He goes to the bar and orders one shot after another.


	2. Chapter 2

Leonardo is in standing in the middle of a wide stone staircase. A crimson carpet running down and he is playing with something, a pendant of some kind hanging from a thread around his neck. The sides of the pendant are sharp, teeth-like and he feels this strange thing is of great importance, or at least it will be.

A soft voice behind him asks "What do you see?"

Leonardo turns around and the vision changes. All he can see now is a starched curiously tailored black jacket. He focuses on the design of the collar and the gray silk around the neck of the man. He remembers that he's just been offered something so he retorts, "You're offering me forbidden fruit now."

The man hesitates barely a heartbeat, and then the answer is accompanied by an almost imperceptible laugh, "That's what serpents do, isn't it?"

The scene changes again and he is in the daylight, in the middle of what looks like a quarry. The sunlight hurts his eyes and he turns around. He now looks at the back of the same man as before, only now he's on horseback and the long black coat is spilling over the glossy black hair of the proud animal. The man starts to turn around and asks Leonardo again, "What do you see?"

Leonardo wakes up fully clothed lying on his bed. The hangover from the long night exacerbated by the ray of sunlight that had crept through the curtains. He groans as he forces himself to the bathroom. He sheds his clothes along the way and the sight that greets him in the mirror forces another groan out of him. His hair is a mess, the black rings around his eyes even more prominent, the 3-day beard completely taking over his face, and to top it all off – the mother of all hickeys on the side of his neck.

He runs his fingers over the sensitive skin there and murmurs, "So, that part at least wasn't a dream."


	3. Chapter 3

AN- I apologize for the long long long wait. Real life just got the better of me. I have the rest of the story written out in my notebook and should be posting the rest of the chapters by the end of this week (or next week at the latest).

Once again, sorry :)

Walking along the streets that day Leonardo is haunted by the voice from the club and from his dreams. He is lost in the depths of his mind, but for once the thoughts are not equations and designs of impossible machines. This time it is a man, a strange man who seemed to know him last night. The man whose touch last night was so new and at the same so familiar.

Leo walks aimlessly around the town, getting lost in the crowd, listening to other people's conversations. Each conversation somehow brings new flashes of the stranger. He stops at the kiosk and grabs an espresso and a pack of cigarettes in the hopes that the nicotine and caffeine would clear his head, make him focus on the now. He sits on a bench by the river. Unconsciously his hands move to his bag and produce the sketchbook and a pencil he always keeps there.

He looks at the pencil, rolls it between his fingers and starts drawing the view of the river. The ash from his cigarette falls on the paper and he swipes it away. The pale grey smudge somehow fits perfectly into the cloudy skies on the paper. He focuses on the smudge on the paper and then on the corresponding one on his hand. He can see a flash of explosions before his eyes. He can see the same hand moving along a barrel of a strange gun and he shakes his head violently trying to chase away the images.

He rips out the drawing of the river scene and starts on a new one, this time it's a face, an imaginary face. Eyebrows are the first to emerge – strong and frowning. Then there are the eyes – dark, menacing, deep with sorrow and pain. The cheek bones frame the eyes sharply and then continue towards the thick, meticulously maintained beard. Leo draws the man's nose. It is a strong, proud, masculine nose, if a nose could be that.

The last feature Leo draws are the lips and they are surprisingly soft and full. He would have expected them to be just a slim straight line across, a perpendicular companion of the nose, but they are not. His hand moves towards the cigarette and as he removes it from his mouth he stops and runs a finger over his own lip. He can swear he knows what a pair of lips like those would feel against his. He can almost feel them right now. His fingers return to the paper to move over the drawn pair of lips and the paper beneath his fingers is transformed into the supple velvet of the lips from his memory.

He looks at the face once it is finished and still he doesn't recognize the man. He tries to close the sketchbook but as his hand approaches the paper the pencil moves across the paper almost of its own volition. It is a long uninterrupted line from the neck, over the shoulder and down the strong back ending in the hip line and the strong thigh. It is a man's back. He decides not to fight the images; he draws like a man possessed. The resulting drawing is breathtaking. The man is lithe with each muscle perfectly defined. The posture is that of a dancer, back straight, proud, standing firmly on both feet but ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

He can hear the voice of the man in his head: "Artista, I am losing my patience with you. I am the sword of the Holy Church, not one of your models."


End file.
